


The Letter

by Jay_eagle



Series: Fandot Creativity Night Fics [5]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Financial Issues, Friendship, Gen, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4112982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_eagle/pseuds/Jay_eagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt from the eighth fandot creativity night - "The Letter".</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Minor canon divergence from Douglas only finding out about Carolyn's financial woes in Douz - in this, he learns about the financial trouble before Martin joins MJN.
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr - jay-eagle.tumblr.com - and always happy to see folk there, do follow if you'd like!

Douglas wasn’t in the habit of coming back to the portacabin after his shift had ended. He had always been of the mindset that once his paid hours were over (preferably five minutes before then, in fact) he’d be out of the door and away without a second thought.

 

However, one evening two years after he’d joined the airdot, he was forced back after-hours as he’d managed to forget his toiletry bag. He’d had such a frustrating flight with the captain, Nigel, that he’d completely overlooked needing to fish it out of his locker and so he grumpily returned, surprised when he found the office door already unlocked.

 

At first he put it down to Arthur being as irresponsible as he was in all areas of his life (still, who’d want to rob a nearly-failing airline anyway?) but when he pushed the door open, he was mystified to hear muffled sniffling coming from Carolyn’s small office.

 

He walked cautiously towards the door. What kind of miscreant broke in and then wept about it? He’d heard of repenting for a crime, but not while you were actually in the act of carrying it out.

 

“Hello?” he called. “Who’s there?”

 

“What?” It was a woman’s voice, and – good Lord – one he recognised, too.

 

“Carolyn?” There was a hint of disbelief in his tones. Carolyn, the Iron Woman, crying? Surely not.

 

“The very same.” The voice was trying to be crisp, dismissive, but there was a hint of sogginess to it that betrayed the tears he’d accidentally disturbed. “What are  _you_  doing here, miserable underling?” She appeared in the doorway, a silhouette in the low light, trying to bristle, Douglas could tell.

 

“Forgot something.” He slipped over to his locker, knowing perfectly well that a weeping Carolyn should be treated with the same caution as a wounded animal. He ferreted for a second, but then his conscience – damn it – overcame him. “Everything alright?”

 

“Why shouldn’t it be?” she snapped, and he heard her disappear into the room again.

 

“No reason,” he muttered, grumpily, and concentrated on extracting the damn toiletry bag that had brought him there in the first place. Wishing himself a million miles away, he slammed the locker closed again after a few moments, offending article in hand, and took a step towards the exit before hesitating. “See you tomorrow?”

 

There was no answer. He paused further, cursing his concern.  _Just a job_ , he told himself.  _Just a job. Just a – oh, for heavens’ sake_.

 

Douglas wandered to her office, and pushed the door open, peering inside. “What-“ He came to a halt. Carolyn –  _Carolyn_  – had her head buried in her arms, her shoulders shaking.

 

In two steps he was next to her, a tentative hand reaching to her shoulder. “What is it?”

 

“Go away, Douglas.” Muffledly.

 

“Come on, ‘Lyn. What’s going on?”

 

She sat back and regarded him wearily, her eyes red, looking as crumpled as an old paper bag. He’d never seen her look so… ghastly. She sighed. “It’s the letter.”

 

“What letter?” Automatically he scanned the paperwork on her desk.

 

“Not that kind of letter!” The irritation in her voice was pure Knapp-Shappey. “This kind!” She abruptly grabbed him by the wrist, ignoring his cry of indignation, and marched him out of the front entrance. “There.”

 

“What?” He stared. It was dark, and he could barely see. She gave an impatient huff. “...Oh!” He could see now. Their formerly pristine sign. It now read ‘MJ_ Air’.

 

“The wind last night,” she said. “It must have blown it down.”

 

“So?” Douglas was perplexed. “You can get it fixed. ‘N’s aren’t rationed, are they?”

 

Instead of answering, she threw her hands up and stalked back inside. He followed, bewildered. Throwing herself down in a chair, she regarded him, angrily, humiliatedly. “I can’t…. afford it.”

 

“What?” He blinked. “I don’t…”

 

“I can’t AFFORD IT.” He’d never heard her shout before, and he sat down opposite her abruptly.

 

“Really?” he asked, stupidly.

 

“Really.” Her voice was quiet again, despairing. “It’s just… the final straw. And Nigel handed in his resignation this evening, so I have to find a new pilot into the bargain.”

 

“He did?”

 

“Don’t you dare sound so elated, Douglas. I know you two don’t get on, but…”

 

“Sorry. Of course.” He mulled it over. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

 

She waved her hand, desultorily. “There isn’t anything.” She wiped her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking. “It was only ever a pipe dream, I suppose.”

 

“No.” His voice was suddenly fierce. “You’re not retiring.”

 

She blinked at him. “But… I have to.”

 

“No.” He shook his head. “Take 10% off my salary.”

 

Carolyn laughed. “Very funny, Douglas.”

 

“I mean it.” He couldn’t believe he was saying it. “A pay cut is better than redundancy.” Douglas shrugged, trying not to look at her. “Just… never say a word to anyone.”

 

“I – I –“ She was clearly lost for words. “Are you sure – no, wait. Done.” She glared at him, but there was affection in it that she’d never shown him before. “I’m not giving you a chance to take an offer like that back.” Something softened, though, and she sighed. “It’s probably still all hopeless, though.”

 

“Never say never. And I’m not offering you any more money.”

 

“No! I mean… I got away with paying Nigel amazingly little as it was. Where am I going to find another pilot who won’t fly us into a mountain for that amount of money?” Another gusty sigh.

 

He stood up. He’d put in far too much overtime here tonight as it was. “One thing at a time, ‘Lyn. Get that letter fixed. You never know what might happen next.”

 

She stood as well. The familiar fire was kindling in her eyes – Carolyn, ready to fight – and he felt an odd, quickly-suppressed glow that he’d put it there. “Yes. I suppose.” She turned away. “Don’t mention this ever again.”

 

“Likewise.” He reached the door, then turned back again for the toilet bag. “See you tomorrow. Helena’s waiting.”

 

“Night.” She went back to her office again. “I’ve got an advert to place for a pilot.”

 

“Don’t get another Nigel!”

 

“I’m making no promises.” A rare, genuine smile, at him of all people – and he left, making sure to shut the door carefully and gently behind him.

 

Wouldn’t do to get hit over the head by a descending J or M, after all.


End file.
